


Heartbreaker

by Tizian23



Category: Jimmy Page - Fandom, Led Zeppelin, Robert Plant - Fandom
Genre: Band Fic, BrumFic, Falling In Love, Getting to Know Each Other, Jimbert- freeform, M/M, Pre-Band, Rock Stars, Rock and Roll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-02-23 10:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23009866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tizian23/pseuds/Tizian23
Summary: Well...My take on How it all began.Lets start at the Beginning.They found each other, didn't they?❤︎
Relationships: Jimmy Page/Robert Plant
Comments: 109
Kudos: 75





	1. Easy Come Easy Go

**Author's Note:**

> SO:  
> Hi, I am new here!  
> Not so much new to the world of writing or even fanfic or slash but very much to writing ZepPorn -no matter if there is sex in it or not-they are definitely PORN no matter what they do or are on about.  
> I am starting slow, posting small things cos they of course always write themselves the easiest : I am sure everyone her knows what I mean :)
> 
> also I want to mention that I didn't find a beta yet and that my mother tongue is not English so feel free to point out grave mistakes or excuse them kindly 💝  
> Please please let me know what you think. Comments are welcome & ❤︎
> 
> Many Thanks go to The Very Lovely Ledbythreads who welcomed me very friendly a few weeks ago!  
> ok  
> On with it now!

Stepping lightly around Peters massive form in the narrow dark corridor I stretch out my hand to him and say with an easy smile  
“Pleasure to meet you. My name is James but please call me Jimmy.”  
He stares at me and I know he’s flustered and speechless. I hope its in a good way and shake my hair into my face as I look up at him.  
He’s taller than I am, not much but enough to make it feel exciting. Close up he looks very young. HIs eyes are sky blue. He is breathtaking and he’s only 18 I think I remember.  


※※※

Terry Reid had been a bit vague on the details when I asked him about joining The Yardbirds. He’s tied up in other projects already he said (nice way to allude he’s not keen on working with me after what happened last time we tried).  
“But there is someone you need to met. Robert. He’s what you are looking for, trust me. “ Then he mentioned a gig coming Friday and and I stopped listening.  
When I told Peter about that he was his usual enthusiastic music manager self sending around telegrams, placing calls and announcing our arrival at said gig before I even had made up my mind about it. So here we are. Peter had picked us up from my house in Pangbourne in his flashy Jaguar to chauffeur us over wet roads up to Birmingham. It was a long dreadful trip past endless meadows covered in coal mine dust and somewhere near Oxford I started wondering if he knows more than I do because he seemed to jiggle with restrained glee in his giant upholstered car seat. Maybe his wife blew him for breakfast or something- however this mood is not his normal state of matter. So I just sat in the backseat and sulked while staring at the streets flashing not listening to Chris and him chatting about old Yardbirds times and trading war stories. I wonder if Chris still wants to be part of this Yardbirds thing. He must be aware that what I have in mind is something very different than what we did all that time together. Maybe its just a jealousy thing more than a band one.  
First time in my life I am driving round Birmingham without noticing it. Have I honestly got the nerves about this gig and this Robert? I am all not sure if I really want all this again. More band business to be particular-I mean yeah, I have Peter taking care of business,  
who will turn the world back round to make this happen-for me as much as well as for himself I guess. But in reality we both know the Yardbirds have run their miles but won’t make it over the finishing line. Aww but damn, this singer can’t be as good as they say if his band plays in this dump for kids who would give their last cent for the cheap piss they sell here for beer but can’t be arsed to even look at the band. Its not even announced anywhere outside the college hall we just have stopped in front of.  
Peter almost hauls me out of the backseat after he parked the car right in front of the entry in order to cause the biggest furore. We waltz into the venue trailed by Chris who fumbles with his camera.  
“Good Evening, I am Peter Grant, manager of The Yardbirds. I am here with James Page and Chris Dreja to see the band….called…” he fishes a paper out of his pocket and bends down to the window near the entry…”Aah… called Hobbs Swindle?!” The slightly drunk ginger bloke who sells the tickets laughs as he peeks in slight disbelief at Peter folding his gargantuan self halfway over the small desk between them.  
“Hobbs Windel? OH yeah… they play here, you are right… “ he makes a dismissive gesture towards the hall behind him and waves away the notes G peels of the wad of money he carries everywhere-just in case.  
“Its fine, just go in and drink a lot.” I can see Peter seething as we walk inside.  
“ If he'd do that to my band I d knock his facking teeth outta his stinking mouth one by one…and stuff them up his….Oh!” The rather underwhelming place is more an assembly hall than a gig venue and the few people loitering about are certainly not here to listen to music. The stage is very low and has a lectern in the middle. Stacked chairs are lined up the the walls to make room for the crowd that isn’t there. Three bored looking girls are pulling beer from kegs on tables on the other end of the hall. I am about to turn tail and wait in the car when I feel Peters paw fall upon my shoulder.  
“Not so fast Mr.Page, give him a chance. Even the shittiest bar might have nice strippers…” Yep, he *definitely* got blown this morning. He’s laughing like he really expects girls doing the banana dance in front of that lectern and Chris looks relived somehow but wipes that look off his face very quickly when he catches my eyes.  
”Lets have a drink and give this joint some time…if its grotty we leave and find real strippers to wrap around us, eh?” The birds at the beer desk look scared shitless as they see G heading their way which makes me laugh uncontrollably. Chris looks excitedly around the place and walks away towards the stage where a few people are busy lugging amps and unwinding cables. Suddenly alone in the middle of the room with nothing to hide behind I long for a cigarette and find that I forgot mine in the car. Patting my jeans down for coins I wander off to find a cigarette-seller. While feeding my last few coins into the machine I spotted at last hanging on the wall near the open backdoor (Oh Gosh, Peter would also have fit seeing this) I see a shabby pickup parked nearby. A few kids are standing at its open rear door, beer bottles and joints in their hands chatting and laughing with each other obviously having a great night. Only- this is happening outside the venue: Yep G would punch a hole into the nearest wall would this be his party. The knot of people suddenly scatters away at the faint sounds of a guitar being tuned from the inside leaving only one person sitting on the cars cargo area dangling legs whilst smoking pensively. Its a boy, I notice. He’s in his early 20s, but certainly younger than me. Slim but fills his t-shirt in all the right places, tanned, lithe and lissom, surely works something with his body. Blond locks crown his lovely face, but the hand holding his cigarette is shaking and he looks terrified. Suddenly the air between us shifts somehow, his head whips up and our eyes meet. After a few seconds or hours of looking at each other I offer him a small smile. He drops his cigarette and hops off the cars loading area stretching himself a bit like a big cat shaking his hair out like it chases away all bad things and finally smiles back. Its a long sweet breathless quiet moment between heaven and earth and I can hear the world turn slowly and loudly around on its axis.Then the cigarette- vender I just fed all my money suddenly coughs out the little package and startles me out of our little shared reverie. Blindly reaching to pull it from the machine I drop the pack to the floor, bend down to pick it up and when I look up again he’s gone. Dumbfounded I stare at empty spot where he stood just a second ago and wonder if I all together dreamed that up.  
Shaking my head I walk back to find my manager and that bass player who d much rather take photos than pick up an instrument again. Awww, man I should have never given in to his crush and let him come close to me. I need to clear this up soon, I can’t and won’t be tied to someone from my (even if recent)past who is jealous enough to ruin my future over a single drunken flirt. Not to mention of course that its a bloke. Generally I don’t have much qualms about the gender of the people I am attracted to, I just have never met a guy I really wanted to let come close enough to me to make it worthwhile. If I ever cross paths with Bowie again though he better hold on to those tiny glitter knickers of his real tight.  
Inside they meanwhile are getting ready to get the party on. There are people on stage now, tuning guitars and mapping out the tiny space they have on there to make that gig happen. The drummer is bouncing about his several snares and a very loud bass-drum. They all do look quite bored though. Chris and G are nearing their second and third beer when I find them in some chairs they dragged to the middle of the floor facing the stage. Next to them are empty beer glasses and an empty chair with another full pint on it. Swallowing a big gulp of it I sit down and catch myself still smiling about the mysterious encounter.  
“So..” I say, “ what have we found here? Anything remotely interesting to report so far?”  
“Nah, not really but what the fack has taken you so long? I almost send out the searching party.” G says looking at Chris.  
“ Oh I went looking for fags.” I say holding up my brand-new pack to illustrate my successful endeavours .  
“And for that you walked back over to goddamn Nottingham or what?” He snaps back. G assumes everyone values me for as much as he does, given I am his best bet on fame and fortune right now. Hence the thought of me wandering around the streets alone always makes him nervous.  
“ How much would you pay for me when I get kidnapped, Peter?” He turns his head giving me a weird look but before he can reply Chris slugs my shoulder hard enough to spill beer over my hands and much worse my brand-new suede slippers.  
“ What the …Chris!?” I yelp at him jumping up shaking beer drops of my fingers and feet.  
“Sorry, Jim it was just such a terrible thing to say…to make jokes about.. I mean losing you would be …” he swallows the rest of that doomed sentence the same moment he sees my jaw drop. Peter rolls his eyes obviously regretting having dragged the infatuated git along with us. He knows about the crush of course. Its was hard to overlook the way Chris made eyes at me ever since that May night in San Francisco. It was just a brief slip of judgement I swear. I haven’t yet had the heart to crush his hopes but I feel its becoming a pressing problem now. I walk away with a exaggerated huff towards the hallway where the loos are to wash my hands. Its near the backdoor and the moment I turn around I am already thinking about the exquisite blonde I saw outside earlier. Maybe he will be there again. I would smile at him again and this time he would not just disappear.  
Just as I am patting my shoes dry with the paper towel I wiped my hands on after washing them I hear the announcer inside. The band’ s coming on. They are truly called Hobbstweedle. I can’t believe this-what a bunch of hippie potheads they must be to name their band like something out of Alice in Wonderland and Tolkien. They do not sound that bad actually… but the guitar is out of tune. They obviously play cover songs. Currently “ Somebody To Love” but the singer is late and missed his cue twice now. I am chuckling to myself sort of disappointed to have been right all along. This trip was useless. This band is not worth staying here any longer and this Robert geezer will just fit in this picture. I throw away the paper towel, missing the rubbish bin by half a mile as I rush back inside keen on getting out of this dive. And then and there it happens. The singer finally makes up his mind and starts singing. And I stop dead in my track in the hallway. Its fucking insane. I even say its out loud. To no one. But its the most outrageously unique voice I have ever heard. He hits all the complicated high notes perfectly and with ease. He has a melting lisp of an accent that wraps sweetly around the hungry beat of the song. He wails perfectly, ending in a haunting driven sigh that would make Grace Slick weep in jealousy. 

I know Fate is kissing my cheek.  
I can hear all the songs we will write together in my head.  
He's gonna sing them. And my guitar will be moaning along.  
I want it.  
I want this.  
I want it all.  
I want it with him.  
Everything else will come together along the way.  
The rest will be history  
I can see it loud and clear. 

★☆★

thats chapter 1  
YAY!


	2. Thunder and Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes are being made. Jimmy fucks it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this took a while. I am sorry.  
> now my city is locked down and i am out of work for about a month.  
> so expect more soon, half of it I already wrote instead of finishing this.  
> my muse hasn't left me ❤️  
> But I confess that I borrowed a line from Eminem that I always have been jealous of for finding it first!

G sort of catches me by the collar as I come sliding their direction on the dance floor unable to stop my sprint from the hallway on my slippery leather soles right by their side.  
“Ha, I knew you’d like this! ” he laughs when he sees my stunned face, mouth rounded to a voiceless OHHH and my finger pointing over my shoulder at the stage behind us.  
“You knew he’s this good?”  
“Of-fackin-cos -you think I d chauffeur your snooty arse up to Bumtown to widen your horizon if I wouldn’t know this boy sang with Alexis before?”  
“He did?” At this point I see Chris facepalming himself while walking away to make some more business with the beer girls. I hope they have some hard stuff and he brings me some. I might need it if this Robert lad with the 7th heavens in his voice now turns out to be a stocky Midlands chav with 4 brats and a face like football.  
I am still standing with my back to the stage looking at Peters wide amused face and contemplate for a brief second to just walk away before I face the second biggest disappointment in my life.  
On stage the band swings into the randiest adaptation of “You shook me” I've ever heard. Jeff Beck eat your heart out - this is how it’s done.  
He works his way from a scream to a sigh and all the way back all while I wonder if it’s normal to feel this overwhelmed ( and maybe a bit hard) without having even clapped eyes on him.  
“Jim, mate the fack’s going on with you? You look like your dragon jus’ flew ‘way.” G is raising one eyebrow at me. He takes me by the shoulders and turns me around -  
“It’s not as bad as you think, I promise. He’s somewhat alright. Open your eyes and look at him.” No I can’t. My eyes firmly on the floor, I can feel more than see Peter shaking his head at me and obviously deciding that pushing it more would be counterproductive.  
Chris suddenly returns -with all the timing he usually lacks-and hands me a small glass with something amber coloured and a single ice cube in it.  
“Drink!” he huffs, “and then actually go and take measure of him.” He smiles like he knows me better than I’d want him to. I gaze at him, over at Peter, who's tapping a large foot while taking a sip of his beer, looking at the stage with a smirk, down into the glass in my hand…then I down it like a shot, the ice cube bumping my nose.  
I swallow it in one go and chew the ice cube to sharp little splinters that melt in my mouth to all the courage and grit I want to have to make this happen. When the ugly shivers whiskey always gives me cease, I take a deep breath, open my eyes and look up at the stage. We are much closer to it than I thought we were - maybe 4 metres- and I am looking straight up at the singer.  
Fucking thunder and lightning, it's the boy from the parking lot. And he has definitely seen and recognised me too. And even worse: He must have seen my whole strange behaviour just moments ago.  
He looks about as dazed by the sudden development as I am and before I get to blush in shame about that and just before he works his way into the most boner inducing moan I ever heard on a stage with dressed people on it -he smiles at me.  
I can tell its the smile he wanted to give me when he saw me first, when he didn’t know who I was. Its efficiently blinding and I go a bit weak in the knees. Leaning on Peters shoulder I murmur near his ear:  
“Uhm. True, he’s quite alright…but you know what this mans voice is made for right?” -Well, besides moaning my name interchanging with ”Oh God yes!” and “Dont stop!” that is.  
G finishes his beer with a long gulp and glances across my face at the non-suspecting Chris as he swallows it then hefts his eyes at me again.  
“Of course, but thats what you want, right? Besides that he’s barely a man, he’s only 18 yet.”  
“ Do you think he can stomach it..all the messy band stuff? Touring, producing, press and stuff? Its harder when you are young and with strangers. I mean…I…”  
Peter knows. I don’t need to elaborate, he was there.  
On stage meanwhile they ramble their way on through their set- and I barely believe it- into Robert Johnsons Crossroad Blues .. and Oh come on! Now he’s just showing off. He’s grinning at me. His eyes won’t leave me as he slips himself into the first verse.

"I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees  
I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees  
Asked the Lord above, "Have mercy, now, save poor Bob if you please"“

He turns away from me with a graceful half pirouette drops to his knees face down on the floor, golden locks on the dirty stage planks, mic cable wrapped around both his wrists…sighing his pleas right in front of me and everyone and I don’t know anymore if I feel hot or cold about him. I just want to own this somehow. There is no way to describe the feeling .. its a hot sweet greedy urge to reach out and keep it.. take him, hide him away, shield him in the palm of my hands from what's coming his way and still take him along to give him what he’s begging for here on his bended knees. All at once since he’s asking so nicely. Which godforsaken devil could turn that offer down?

Ripping my eyes away from the stage after all I notice the way nobody else but us seems to pay proper attention. How can they not notice him? How does he not cause riots just by walking on stage already? He’s so loud, so shiny and so perfect in any way, in his moves as well as this looks and the way he dresses as well as of course this voice which I almost can feel on my skin like sunshine warming me and a wild twisting in my tummy… or rather a bit lower. He clearly never had any singing lessons. It’s what makes it him special. They drill the way he sounds out of you when you take lessons. 

“ If he doesnt make it into your band then I don’t know what you are looking for.” Peter mumbles, side-eying me in a way that makes me wonder if I care what he thinks about me and the criteria after which I pick (the things I fancy) who I wanna spend my time with in studios, busses and hotel lobbies for a considerable time from now on.  
Meanwhile I watch the boy uhm..Robert pick himself up from the floor in the most elegant lil twisting hop i have ever seen. The way he dances is clearly his interpretation of what Elvis did but he’s so much more a natural. He turns away from the audience like he is still too shy to face them but he bobs his head and lets his slender hips move with the rhythm. His hand is still wrapped in the mic lead, he is visibly restraining himself from grooving with the guitar solo and that again makes me hotter under my collar than it should do given his tender age.  
I’d give him the groove he needs.  
Feed him the fuel he needs for his fire.  
Yet there is a certain air of unspoiledness, maybe even innocence around him. Even though the word innocence feels very out of place describing someone who moves like him and moans on stage for money. Gonna give him all my gold if he makes this noise in my bedr … I am reminding myself harshly that he’s not a sex toy I am shopping for but a very young probably very nervous man who just witnessed our rude and obviously judgemental behaviour right in front of him when he was hoping for a big chance.  
Finally picking my mind out of the gutter, I try to catch his eyes again. He’s is still singing and obviously giving his best on stage but I see him turn away from centre stage to the side with the most heartbroken expression on his pretty face I have seen for ages. He talks to his band, mic in hand, locks bouncing as they agree on the last song…  
Some thing else from Eddie Cochran. Gosh I know the song by the first three seconds of the beat. He bounces with the harsh guitar riff that I love so much, swinging his locks over his shoulder, his eyes swaying my our direction then flinching away like he doesn’t want to be reminded  
AhGoddamn I might have blown it.


	3. "Good Job, Jimmy!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy tries to face the drama.

As soon at the last twang of Something Else has echoed out in the assembly halls wide space Robert lets his mic carelessly drop to the dirty stage floor to with an angry clang, quickly bows twice to the sparse applause deep enough to graze the ground with his hair. I notice Peter bending over and putting his empty pint glass to the ground to be able to applaud long, loud and hard and even yelling for an encore. On my other side Chris is whistling his fingers. I am just standing there, the empty shot glass in my hand, helplessly staring at him, clueless at how to make good on what my smile had promised him earlier. He hops elegantly down the low stage and walks past us straight to the bar without even sparing us a single glance.  
“Huh, he’s got some attitude.” G sounds genuinely surprised. Maybe he’s thirsty and very keen on a smoke I tell myself.  
Chris wordlessly raises an eyebrow at me. We turn around and watch the boy order a large beer and two shots from a widely grinning bosom heaving beer girl. He downs them both with shaking hands and grabs his beer walking away towards the backdoor to the parking lot where we saw each other first. Again without a single glance in our -or anybodys- direction.

“Some attitude and a burgeoning alcohol problem it seems. “ Chris soberly summarises our observations. But I know better. He’s heartbroken, double cracked if you will. One shot for each disappointment. I managed to do that without even talking to him.  
“Good job, Jimmy!” Peter groans, hinting he absolutely clocked what was going on here and how it went down the drain.  
“Let me talk to him anyway, maybe I can smooth that over or he is just nervous or sumthin’.” He starts walking after the pissed-off of teenager, who disappeared behind some door next to the back door. Red-hot in my heart I know I need to talk to him first before G does otherwise he’ ll turn down the Golden Cage the Yardbirds have to offer.  
“No no, I don’t want that.” I grab him by the loose linen sleeve of his huge blazer to hold him back. Its more like a kitten would claw his sock but he stops immeadiately, turning around to give me a stern eye over.  
“James ..you gonna..”  
“Yes I will, leave me to it.”  
“Sure, but let me do the arrangements, yes?” He says gently, like talking to a stubborn child he’s gonna let get its way. I nod reluctantly but relieved since I would not know how to approach anyone let alone the thunder and lightning boy who I just miffed so hard. He walks over to the closed backstage door, with me hot on his heels. Chris stays where he is looking expectantly into his near empty beer and over to the sniggering bar girls as if this mess is not his business at all. Which it isn’t, lets be honest. We both know he will opt out of this new band as soon as it takes any shape clearer than my last smoke ring hanging over his head.  
Peter knocks on the backstage door, loud and brusque, its an imperative. Announcing our arrival not asking to be let in. After a minute and some commotions inside, in which we stand stand there like two cuppas getting cold on the kitchen counter, looking at each other with sinking hearts; the door opens abruptly to reveal a stocky lad with longish dark hair and handlebar moustache. He’s smiling but his friendly face darkens as soon as he sees Peter looming on the doorstep and literally shuts down the moment he sees me loitering behind him.  
“ What?” He snaps at G with an encouraging amount of guts and a mean twinkle in his eyes. He seems a bit pacified when he sees me flinching at his vicious tone.  
“ Good Evening, “ G replies in jovial tone, smoothly and utterly unaffected. “ I am Peter Grant with the Yardbirds. I am looking for Robert Plant?!” 

I take a closer look into the dingy room around the two fencers in my way and see the boy sitting on a couch between a pretty girl with long dark hair and his guitar player. They both seem to be hugging him in a way that looks like very awkward comforting. The boy is wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. I step back into Gs shadow again and wish I’d disappear. Leaning my back against the wall next to the door outside I am panting into my palm to get some air in my lungs while feeling the utmost regret.  
“ Well Congrats, you found him but you won’t talk to him.” Stache barks at Peter, his eyes narrowing as he puffs himself up some more to block our view into the room. His invasive, overprotective behaviour makes me want to meet Robert even more, knowing he was looking forward to talk to me or us so much thats he’s crushed enough now to provoke such safeguarding from his friends. I am clocking back into the meanwhile heated back and forth between both our chaperones when I hear a soft voice from the back.  
“ Its fine, Bonzo. I’ ll be out in a second.” G huffs a victorious sound and soundlessly fist bumps the doorframe.  
“ Are you sure, Ro’? I can send ‘em two arsewipes on ‘er merry way home to bloody Landan if ya want me to. “ Unfortunatly for Stache Peter is absolutely immune to evil stares of any kind, hence his winning smile is riling Roberts honourable mate up even more.  
“No. Its fine really. I might as well find out what they have to offer. “ Peeking over Peters shoulder I see the pretty, brunette girl on Roberts left whisper in his ear, her hand on his knee. He shakes his head and gives her a meaningful look and a pat on the shoulder as he gets up. Making his way through the room past his band mates he looks at Peter and gives him a petulant stare. As he steps out in the suddenly chill hallway I notice he has changed into a tight shirt with a glittery rainbow print and a pair of bellbottom blue jeans tight enough to see he’s clearly not wearing any knickers. Goodness! How am I supposed to look at his face now knowing this. He shivers as he looks around Peter to find me.  
Stepping lightly around Peters massive form in the narrow dark corridor I stretch out my hand to him saying with an easy smile  
“Pleasure to meet you. My name is James but please call me Jimmy.”  
He stares at me and I know he’s flustered and annoyed at my cheekiness. I hope I can make up for it somehow and shake my hair into my face as I look up at him.  
He’s taller than I am, not much but enough to make it feel exciting. Close up he looks very young. His eyes are sky blue. He is breathtaking but I can feel the disappointed anticipation come off him in heavy waves.  
Hesitantly he takes my hand.


	4. All My Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read today on Heartbreaker:  
> Will Jimmy win over the stroppy sunshine he just discovered in Bumcity?  
> Or will Bonzo punch him after all?  
> Will G make up his mind about how much he'd pay for Jimmy in case he gets kidnapped?

His hand is warm and callused, ( feeling a bit working-class, I knew he works with something with his hands) and I don’t want to let go of it. Ever. His handshake is firm but his eyes are unsure, apprehensive and yet full of WANT. Even tough he stands far away from me his slight, gorgeous body curves marginally in my direction. Like he subconsciously wants to share my warmth but knows he shouldn’t want that.  
He pulls away, even though I can tell he felt that spark too. He folds his tanned arms before his glittered chest, his hands covering his biceps as if to keep himself warm. His t-shirt stretched tight over his lean body, he’s very wait-and-see, the rainbow peeking over the hostile gesture making it a lot less disparaging than he obviously intends it to be.  
Its enough to derail me a bit though. I am opening and closing my mouth once or twice not exactly knowing how to start or go on. When he sees me going so weak for him he takes mercy on me, drops his arms and puts on a very tiny smile as he eyes me from underneath long blond lashes. I feel my blood rise to my cheeks.  
“ Robert,” He finally replies gently. He talks quietly even in the loud surrounding; music pounding from the dance floor somewhere behind him, his velvet voice very different from the demanding, secure, soulful primal scream he so easily employs on stage. He maybe wants me subconsciously to move closer? “..but I guess you know that already, since you and your supercilious mates came all the long way from London to sneer at me during our set.“  
Gosh, he does not beat around the bush. I love it. But I have no idea what to answer so I blush more and try being honest. For a change and a bit of big eyes thrown in for good measure as I blurt out:  
“OH Lordy, no no no we were not sneering, really. Not the slightest bit. We were floored. You ..must know how good you are. We wondered if your voice does even go with the music the Yards are making right now.”  
FucketyFuck I said the wrong thing again, the shy surprised smile that had been blooming up on his face falls out of it like a lead zeppelin from the sky. Why am I thinking of Keith Moons phrase now? I just babble on without thinking or at least filtering what I say.  
“ But nonetheless I want you”( OOHH MY GOOOOD)” I mean I want to work with you so we might just change the music around. I am getting progressively tired of always sounding like the last Kinks album anyway. Its outdated I feel… we ve reached the end of the road; of it being innovative and great. And you!! You are so frigging special, your voice and how you use it…you see.” My hands making a grand gesture of I don’t know what I am saying but I want you to understand. I finally get a hold on my traitorous mouth and shut up, covering it with my left hand, just in case. His jaw drops in surprise and I want to cover the lovely wow of his lips with mine, just to taste the whiskey he drank earlier on his tongue.  
Behind him I see a wildly amused looking Peter surreptitiously stepping between Roberts back and the door he just emerged from thus making sure the bothersome mob of Roberts mates won’t get to intervene from now on. Shooting G a heated StayPut- look I reach out for the boys wrist and see all the hairs on his arm stand up at my touch. His skin is warm like it exhales the suns heat of the day, his pulse beating rapidly under my fingertips. I carefully pull him closer to me, over to the open back door. He follows willingly like he is mesmerised by this obvious stolen caress, assured of me not posing a threat in any way. As he steps closer his careful expression changes to a genuine smile, its tiny but its trusting. I might not have scared him off then. Or he’s just too young to heed the warnings.  
As we walk down the hallway together, next to each other leaving everyone else 10 steps behind us I am struck by a visionary moment. Feeling his Welcome-as-the-flowers-in-May presence close to me for the very first time.  
We will still do this many years from now and he will always have the same affectionate expression on his face when he looks at me that he has now. We will do this a thousand times in the years to come and not once I will not enjoy feeling his warmth by my side.  
I know it. The heat of this certainty settles in my tummy as we arrive at the still open back door. He looks outside at the empty car park, probably thinking about our first encounter earlier…then glances at me and leans against the wall across me. I wonder if he felt it too. We don’t talk even though there would be so much to say. I pull out my smokes, but he waves them away and instead produces a small tightly rolled spliff from his pocket. His eyes ask the words he doesn’t say. Nodding I start looking for my golden lighter. With all words still unnecessary he puts the spliff between his lips, holding his hair back with both hands, his eyes bright and asking. I step away from my side of the hallway wall and step into his light, way to close and way too fast but this time I am invited, I can feel it.  
The small perfect little Ping my lighter sings for him as the flame jumps up makes him laugh around the joint.  
“ Of course you’d have a lighter like that.” he mumbles while deeply inhaling, his voice dropping to bit of a growl as he holds the smoke in. Licking his finger he carefully wets the cigarette paper near the embers so it won’t burn too fast. He exhales the most perfect smoke-ring I have ever seen and eyes me over it as it's slowly rising between us.  
“ A penny for ya thoughts, James.”


	5. Strange Things happen every Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy looses his footing. At Last.

“Don’t call me that, it sounds like G giving me a tingler. Makes me feel all like an inadequate grown-up. Please call me Jimmy.” I am wincing at his silly grin.  
“ But Jimmy sounds soooo intimate…” He breathes the word out together with another smoke ring,“...like..I know you.” His sky-blue eyes diving into mine as though all he ever wanted was meeting James and make him Jimmy.  
“ But you do know me.” Its barely an answering breath between us; only half an audible protest. I want him to come closer. And he does. Surreptitiously; disguised as a stretch he raises his arms over his head, flexing them back, drawing himself like a bow. T-shirt riding up over his flat, golden tummy, the inside of his arms a lighter honey colour than the rest of him. (That I can see. And I see sooo much.) I watch it and feel my stomach drop. He so knows whats going on. He flips his hair over his shoulder and shifts closer.

“ I don’t know you; I have just met you.” Blimey! What a tease.  
“ And what do you think?”  
We both know this is a loaded question asking so much more than just his opinion about my first name. Before he can answer there is a commotion behind me in the hallway, coming from where I know G is still guarding us. Roberts’ eyes leave my face and sway over my shoulder down the hallway. Raising over the smug mumble G employs when he is trying to be nice I can hear Roberts protective friend call for him. Drat! Looking around I see him standing in the hallway, surrounded by the other mates and (former?) band.  
“ Ro, we are…”  
“ No, mate please let them talk. You can see everything is fine. He doesn’t need babysitting now.” That’s G.  
“ I am not babysitting him. I care for him. Will you let me.… Ro!” The voice rises again. Roberts steps away from the wall catching his friends eyes past Gs enormousness, his hands moving with his mollifying tone:  
“ Bonzo, its cool, lemme quick finish up here. Go have a beer or sumthin’.”  
“ Good idea! Let me buy you guys some pints… the boys will be done here in a minute.” Peter looks back over his shoulder as he herds the bunch of them to the bar and makes a almost imperceptible nod towards the open backdoor behind us before he turns around and chats up the pretty girl that sat next to Robert earlier. 

I gotta scoot- and fast; that much was clear from Peters hint. 

The hallway falls quiet around us, music only echoing in the very faraway hall. Etta James crooning about Strange Things that happen everyday. We are looking at each other, suddenly both aware that we might be alone for the first time. He pulls a funny face, something endearing between moue and apology, offering me the joint, his eyes keenly on me as I take it from his fingertips. The embers so close to my skin make this feel more intimate and precarious. I take a deep drag of it careful to not finish the thin cigarette right away. I taste the smoke on my tongue before it wraps me in splendid whooziness, sharpening my sense for this wordless golden moment. I feel soft.  
Behind him I see some of his bandmates drive the pick up off the car park, probably to load the equipment back on. I walk past him over to the doorstep to flip the bud of the joint outside and turn around again, catching him clearly checking me out with a very contemplating expression. Should he be embarrassed about being caught in flagranti he doesn’t show it. I can feel his eyes almost like a touch wander up my body, slowly accessing me. Oh,BE my guest.  
My expensive fuckingslippery suede slippers, dark bell bottom jeans with a slightly crumpled crease…then his gaze turns appreciative as he passes my hands, wrists, the missing belt, pushed up sleeves of my leather jacket showing naked forearms with the soft dusting of dark peach fur, the open buttons at the collar of what once was a crisp white shirt in the afternoon when I left my house.  
That feels very long ago suddenly. I'd gladly pawn away my fret hand to know what he's thinking.  
His eyes linger- I can’t say where-for a moment to ponder my mouth as he comes over to where I am still perching on the step. Trying not to smile I lick my lips, shifting nervously on my spot. When our eyes finally meet he is right in front of me. So close that I can smell the whiskey on his breath, and the sweet scent of Indian incense in his hair. He lifts his right hand to my face, suddenly stops himself, instead he makes another well measured step into me that has me stumbling backwards over the doorstep into the deserted carpark. Surprised, I reach out for him to not fall on my arse. He steadfastly catches me by the left wrist and follows me outside; easily swinging me around to back me up against the wall next to the door- just out of flipping everybody's sight.  
In the falling dusks violet light his eyes look darker, even more as he is so close to me that I have to slightly look up to him.  
Well. Goddamn!  
I let out a breathless throb, my heart hammering in my throat.  
His knee touches mine to part them.  
“ Steady on, Miss. I’ve got ya!“ He swoons at me with a wicked grin.


	6. Make me Ting-a-ling-a-ling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its dark and they are alone out there.  
> So they do the next best thing.

“So, lets get down to business”, he whispers as he loosens his grip around my wrist and runs light fingers up my forearm. Brushing the soft hairs against the grain.  
The dusk has become proper darkness and I see nothing but a smooth endless neck and his lips. His breath is fanning my face, our noses almost touching but he is not nearly as close as I want him to be. His eyes drop to my mouth; small and pink and wet and he’s probably thinking about it wrapped around his cock because he suddenly turns pink around the nose and then he is faltering; all fluttering lashes, hitching breath and pursed lips. So I wait to see if he has a clue what he wants. His knee stays where it is..touching mine but not slipping in between.  
Oh oh, he had expected a bit of resistance, now had he? Good!Let’s get down to business indeed, love.  
I put my hand on his hip, right at the belt, thumbing on his skin, stroking up under the seam of his shirt. Just a bit. Like soothing a wild animal. His mouth drops open, his pupils fattening.  
Good Grief, I really need to stop him from doing that if I ever want to get any work done with him, its so very tempting. Pulling him close by the belt (he comes so willingly) I sidestep and swing him around, pushing back, crowding him into the wall and myself into his body. Parting his knees much more effectively than his tentative approach did, slipping my long thigh between his legs. Deliberately. Slowly. Closing in.  
My hands on the wall each side of his head. His eyes go soft in quarter a second, his body loose and open, he licks his lips looking at my mouth again, more blushing, a stuttered breath. Looks gorgeous but its quite over-egging the pudding. I don’t know why he plays me an act like this but I have seen this before. And I’ve never liked it.

“ Oh don’t you do a fainting groupie routine on me now, please. You’re better than that.” It comes out with a straight face, not thinking how gobby it makes me sound. He literally flinches like I slapped him, his face blank. Oops, I gather it was real then. Drat this is going balls up again.  
I am still standing close enough to him to feel him start trembling, but its something else then being an easily excitable blonde. He recovers swiftly this time, shoving me roughly away with both hands.  
“ Fuck you” He snaps at me, his voice loud and full of insulted guilelessness. “Can you stop blowing hot and cold at me all bloody 5 minutes? First you smile at me like you wanna sweep me off my feet, then make fun of me with your mates while I sing then proceed to yardbird me, sending over your manager to sweet-talk me, being all the elusive rockstar, who but falls over himself with shaking hands and gooey eyes when actually talking to me.” Oh Dear, he’s rather temperamental. No need to feed him fuel for his fire… there is quite enough of that in him already. Wait …what? Gooey eyes?  
“ Excuse me, what did you just say? I didn’t make any eyes at you… you ..you came on quite strong, manhandling me out to the car park; pressing me into walls..”  
“ And you were all about it before …” He stands defensively a few steps away from me, still near the wall, hands shoved in his back pockets, his blue eyes ablaze.  
“ Before what..?” Just as I want to give him a piece of my mind G pops his head through the open backdoor. He looks slightly bothered but grins easy as he sees us standing close to each other yet yelling.  
“ First lovers spat already?!” I swallow the rest of what I wanted to give Robert and narrow my eyes at G instead.  
“ We’re not fighting.” I bite out.  
“ We’re not lovers.” Robert says with subtle assuage.  
“ Yet.” G replies with a smile to both of us. The cheek of him. We share a look like reprimanded kids. “However Jim, if you’d quite hurry up ‘ere; we need to get goin’. It’s a long ride and you need to hit studio 9ish tomorrow.” He gives Robert a little wave and disappears from the door step.  
When our eyes meet the next time he is laughing silently. I close in again, its just one smooth step and I don’t shove him or cage him in this time. The tips of my shoes touching his as I carefully look up to him, laughing as well. He reaches out, lifting a long, black stray curl out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. It’s a caress and not even a stealthy one. One finger hooked under my belt he pulls me closer, holding me there; running the back of his hand along my jaw. When I see no indecision or swoon in his eyes I lean forward and press my lips on the dishy dimple in his left cheek. His skin is soft and smells citrussy and when he turns his head and meets my lips I find the whiskeys caramel taste still lingering. The innocent lip to lip press of the kiss turns hot in a second. His lips part like it’s urgent as he pushes an indiscreet luscious tip of tongue in my mouth as if he can’t stop himself from taking the whole glass after being offered a sip. Our noses bump together. His hair touching my face. My eyes are still open, I want to see him, when he closes his eyes for the first time, when he starts trusting me. Tilting my head I invite him in. And he comes. His arm wraps around my shoulder,leaning back against he wall pulling me along as he snuggles up to me. I let him take my mouth, kissing like it substitutes for breathing  
I swallow his tiny moan; it’s tender and slow now, searching, his tongue dipping in, teasing. He makes a noise like he just tasted something delicious.  
“ God Jimmy, your mouth… “ His voice trails away when I slide over his soft cheek to hide my face in his hair, kissing the shell of his ear, running the tip of my nose down his neck. He tastes like the smoke on his skin and a bit salty, yet somehow caramel clings to it. My breath, my lips on his skin; there is another noise sweetly rumbling in his throat, it makes me wild, I want to lick it out of his mouth so I find his lips again. I want I want I want and I try to not take. When he lets my tongue slip in I close my eyes.  
I feel the presence before I hear it. It’s not called a Jaguar for nothing; but even an expensive car makes a sound when it approaches. I know it’s Peter.  
Full of regret I take my mouth away from his fervent snog and breathe in Roberts ear.  
“ I need to go.” His eyes open and he sees the car waiting behind me. We both can’t be arsed to jump apart even though we’ve got spectators now. I feel the chuckle that turns to a silly, playful hum in his chest before he sings me a little ditty. 

“ I am going to the corner, gonna ‘im buy a diamond ring.  
When he hugs me and kiss me make me ting-a-ling-a-ling  
Good golly, Miss Molly, sure like to ball.  
When you're rockin' and a rollin' can't hear your momma call.“ 

I get hot under my collar as I realise that no one ever sang for me. It’s just me here. No one else hears him. He sang only for me to hear it. It’s mine. This moment, this smile, this hushed low intimate voice that should be reserved for moaning between silk sheets. My silk sheets I mean…Alas, not now though.

“ I can SEE your momma call though …” he adds. A wide shit-eating grin accompanies that remark that makes us both giggle. I allow myself to pout at him before I nip his neck and whisper hotly into his ear without looking at him.  
“Promise you gonna come to my house tomorrow. Promise.” He nods,his locks bopping.  
“ Stay a while, bring your favourite records and a toothbrush. I’d say knickers too but I am not sure you’re wearing any. I’ll ring you from the studio tomorrow, yeah?”  
G honks at us. I extricate myself from Roberts arms,  
It feels like leaving the spot my life wants me to be in.  
I know he feels it too.  
His fingers let go of my jacket with tangible reluctance.  
I walk away without turning around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its of course Little Richard Robert sin gs for him.  
> I love Richard and so do Robert and Jimmy.


	7. Faint Heartbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Afterglow and it's aftermath.

“ You know Jim, I am not sure you have understood the concept of casting couches correctly.”  
Peter chides me but he’s smirking in the rearview in a way I know is chuffed.  
“ What are you on about?” I mumble; not sure if I wanna discuss this just yet, while I am still glowing with delight and the faint heartbreak of having to leave Robert standing there. I can see him through the backlight getting smaller as we speed away, kicking a stone over the dark parking lot patting himself down; surely looking for a smoke. He doesn’t look after the leaving car.  
“But it’s good to know we have found someone who apparently does.” Chris chips in.  
I am rolling my eyes, feeling shattered and peevish.  
“ No honestly, will you actually let me meet him next time? Since it is a match I reckon?” Peter tries again.  
“ Good Grief, G, you feeling left out or what? Never fear, he’ll find out soon enough that blowing the guitar player in the car park isn’t sufficient to make it into the band.” Chris drops the bomb comment of the evening; looking about as pissed off as I am feeling now. Peters eyes in the rearview say Let me handle this but I am too irritated to let this slip. 

“ Firstly he didn’t quote ‘blow me in the car park unquote’ “ I bark at Chris, leaning to the front between the car seats, nailing him into his passenger seat with my angry stare. “Secondly, if he did-I don’t see how that would be your business and thirdly it’s not your band. It’s mine and I DECIDE, who and when and where. And how.” At my overemphasis I see G wince and close his eyes in an expression of heartfelt pain.  
“ Eyes on the street, Peter! Try not to kill us before we make it back home to my actual casting couch.” I remind him; not wanting him to try soften this blow for Chris. Chris gasps quietly. I feel a bit sorry that it came out like this but at least it’s over and cleared up now. Like a plaster ripped off all at once.  
Uncomfortable silence lingers in the car like a dark cloud about to strike a lightning. Chris hangs his head, Peter discovers his lead-foot, presumably to have this be over sooner before it can get any worse. I lean back in the rear bench, the leather of my jacket and the seats screeching against each other..shrouding myself in the cars darkness I am sorting through my thoughts and feelings like picking marbles from a bowl. After a long while, Chris clears his throat and says earnestly:  
“ I am not making a scene here, Jim. It’s not that I am jealous. Alas, maybe a bit, but it’s just… His incredible potential and talent are obvious. I am afraid that you are…uhm taken advantage of because he’s young and pretty and willing to go all the way to make it into the Yards.”  
He says it basically to his lap, not able to look anywhere else. All my marbles shatter to the floor and roll away.  
Peters eyes in the rearview ask me if he’d have a point here.  
I try to think of something to answer but nothing fits without sounding quarrelsome, defensive or making Robert (and myself ) sound like a slag. So I stare out of the window into the night, picking up my marbles; wondering what I am gonna do with that whole boy wonder in my house tomorrow. 

G eases up on the gas pedal after a while so he is thinking about some things on his own I assume. We are nearing Pangbourne when Chris leans over to switch on the radio. And like a Godsend there are Little Richards wild squeals for Miss Molly filling the car.  
“ I never knew you were that fond of Noisy Richard.” Chris wonders as he sees my doubtlessly wide grin in the dark. Gs fingers drum on the steering wheel he’s nodding along with the song.  
“ That one was missing tonight… It would have fit right in their setlist", he muses.  
“ No, it wasn’t. Missing I mean. I heard it.” I didn’t want to say it but it falls out before I can stop it.  
So I roll my eyes to make it at least seem less a brag. Peter raises his eyebrow at me. I brush my hair back with my left hand and notice how my fingers that were touching him faintly smell like Roberts skin and I can’t stop myself from swooning. And yes I am fully aware that my two best friends think I am a naughty brat who made the boy sing for his supper before I pawed him in the parking lot.

When we finally arrive at Shooters Hill in Pangbourne it’s about 3 and I am knackered. I climb out of the car only thinking about my bedroom and that one melody I need to write down before I pass out. G and I agree I shall ring him tomorrow evening. I don’t tell him that Robert said he’d come to my house. But between the lines of my silence he must have noticed I need some space. Chris and I share a hot look before I leave the car. I know this chapter is over and I feel apologetic it ended like that and that he had to witness it so very helpless and so very first hand. I have no words so I just nod at him before I walk up my driveway.  
When I look for my keys I notice I lost my golden lighter.


	8. Upstairs For A Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's confused-who can blame him.  
> But we meet someone else who is most important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, So here we have a slight warning.  
> He never says No.. but its dodgy at best.  
> I know.  
> Jimmy knows.  
> We both worry about it.  
> Everything will be fine.  
> We think.

I pull him over my doorstep and push him face first into the wall, holding him in place with one hand between his shoulder blades while reaching around his slender hips. Stroking his cock though his trousers, feeling his burgeoning want. He moans, but it’s quiet and sounds confused. I unzip his jeans and lower them just over his glorious seamlessly tanned arse. I can barely believe I’ll be the first one to have it. My hand wraps loosely around the wet crown of his prick. He doesn’t say No once but when I brush his locks out of his face I see the gobsmacked look in his wide, stunned eyes; just a bit darker a blue than thunderstormy sky. He’s panting for air like he can’t figure out the right thing to think or say; let alone feel. No underwear- I knew it. He still doesn’t put up any protest but when he feels me rock hard through my velvet trousers pressing against his naked skin he shudders and leans his forehead against the wall, his hands scrabbling the wall for a hold-on; nails scratching over the paper, like he needs something to support him.  
“I want you so much” I whisper through his golden cloud of hair into his ear so they can’t hear us in the dining room, “I can’t wait. Not even take you upstairs. You drive me so wild…you’ll let me have ya', right?” I have finally freed myself from my pants and kick his legs apart with my foot as wide as the jeans snared tightly around his golden thighs will allow. His eyes close- he doesn’t want to witness his own surrender. Briefly I admit myself to the thought that this not the way you steal someone’s virginity; leaning face first into the hallway wall papers of an almost stranger who spits on his fingers and slips his cock into you while there are people waiting in the living room. Pushing his short tight t-shirt up a bit I wrap my fingers around his sharp hipbones; trying to find the right angle to break into his perfect body like a hooded burglar into a Disney Castle. The choked, broken noise he makes when I slide into him with a single, hard shove sounds like real pain laced with determination and for the first time he says my name and Ouch in one sentence. And I cannot even begin to explain why this turns me on so much more. I am so far out of my mind with the elation of being inside him, his delicious pliancy and the walk over victory of being first that I barely notice how hot and unbearably tight he feels around me; how obviously unprepared and unbidden my intrusion is.  
Afterwards I take him to meet Peter for that cup of tea that’s been waiting on the couch table since I went to open the door for Robert. And no one but us would know that he’s mine. Already. For good. Because I was there first. Mine mine mine. For ever. Not even 10 minutes after he unsuspectingly walked over my doorstep.

When I open my eyes I watch the water in the shower wash away the spilled cum off my length, softening between my soiled fingers; twirling it around the drain between my toes before it disappears. I am still slightly panting but when the orgasmic haze leaves reality comes crashing down. What the fuck was that? Never before I got myself off about something so sinister. I never even thought about something like this before. I am not stupid. That was no consent. No sweet surrender but submission. Why this gross elation about being first? Possessive. Greedy. Heartless. Eww. Why would this excite me?  
Sure, sexual fantasies are not necessarily what you would really want to happen but I am really wondering about that weird twist in my tummy this one gave me. It feels sticky, spoiled, dirty and not in a good way. Once my hair is dry and I found a clean jeans I ring my driver and iron my shirt while I smoke a cigarette, to chase this bad vision away; dearly missing my lighters comforting, little golden ping.  
Upon arrival in the studio I find David or better Lord Sutch as he calls himself now patiently waiting for my late arse to arrive. He doesn't comment on my tardiness but I catch him pulling a face. He does however short-stop when I push away his suggestive hand sneaking around my waist. He’s this hot, little, blond cockney; a bit chavy and quite loud, usually I gladly take him round the corner for a bit of back alley fun but today I am still pondering my strange morning vision and there is another blonde on my mind. Sutch is clever though and picks up on my mood quickly so we jump into work instead, the tapes are rolling soon and time flies by. After we've wrapped it up in the afternoon I bump into John Paul Jones on my way out. He sits cross-legged on the studios' hallway floor with a book on his knees, face hidden in waves of soft brown hair down to his shoulders ,his huge bass leaning on the wall next to him. When he hears the door open he looks up from his book and waves at me with a smile. I send Sutch on his way to the next pub and walk over to sit down next to John. He offers me an apple, bright red and sweet and while I eat it we exchange easy chitchat and a bit of studio gossip. I really like him; we've played together seamlessly countless times; his genius is quiet and pleasant, he plays more instruments than I care to count and his arrangements are impressive, unique masterpieces without ever a hint of show off. Besides that he is the loudest, steadiest, true bluest bass player I know. His grey eyes carry a question whatsoever and I want to find out which one. 


	9. Courage, My Boy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come together, before things go apart again.  
> Jimmy is a mess and then he gets drunk.  
> Jonesy smiles a lot.

“ Then he asked me how the band business is going …and I was unsure at first if he means the Yards but then he said he’s bored with studios work. So then I suggested he joins a band and gives his wife a bit of space at home..and can you believe it: He said that’s exactly what his wife said too.’ Why don’t you join a band or something, love? Give Jimmy Page a ring.’ Apparently it was in Disc that I am forming a group. So long story short, we have a bass player now and he’s the best. Isn’t that just splendid? I don’t know why I didn’t think of him right away.” 

“ That’s smashing, great news really ..but can you take a deep breath, please? “ Peter chuckles into the phone receiver, a teacup clinking against a saucer in the back.  
I am in the telephone box in front of Worlds End pub on Kings Road, a half empty pint in my hand and Jonesy- as he asked me to call him now- is ordering more beer inside while I am announcing the good news to my-our delighted manager.  
“ I am pretty sure that was the longest speech you ever held me. Are you ok? ‘Round the block with this Sutch prat again?”  
“ Excuse me? NO, he’s slumming with his coke dealer somewhere in Camden. Why are you asking?” I have a hunch G knows Sutch and I am conducting illicit sordid studio-sharing-with-benefits-relations that he disapproves of.  
“ I am not sure. Nevermind. ..actually ‘m waiting for ya' to give me the marchin' orda: What’s gonna happen with your BumCity Lolita? Ya‘ere sure last night. Gonna proceed, right?” I swallow my smile and feel a weird taste crawl back into my mouth again when I think of this mornings shower.  
“ It's.. I am .. ” Blimey, how did this question come as a surprise?  
“ You won’t go ’n’ hide at home again listenin’ t Doo-Wop for a fortnight, promise ?”  
“ Hm? Oh, no I don’t think so. It’s just… I had sort of a bad dream…I am… well..I might need time to think.” Hearing this Peter lets out a heavily burdened sigh.  
“ OK, I know you are superstitious Jimmy, but you won’t want to let the best thing of your life slip through your fingers because you had a nasty dream, yeah?” He has a point but he doesn’t know the whole strange truth.  
“ Uhm nasty…yes” The phone receiver almost slips out of my suddenly sweaty fingers. I hope he doesn’t understand what I really mean but G is too clever for his own …well for my good.  
“ Dare I say, Jim: He’s innocence begging to be soiled. He's not even legal for Fackssake yet even Chris said something about how he’d look great bend over the back of a settee; so I don’t think it’s just you.“  
Oi, Lolita?? The fact how young Robert actually is had conveniently slipped my mind. But it was the only thing about him that I didn’t ponder back and forth endlessly in the last few hours.  
“Goodness, hear me out. Sometimes we see terrible things ahead because we are afraid of the good things coming our way…. relax. Courage, my Boy. Everything will be good. It's good you have found Jones. He’s a nice lad. We still need a drummer … any clues?” I hear him changing topic and stir sugar in his tea .  
“And don’t try to sell me Keith Moon again… not gonna duel Townsend over this rascal, just so you know.”  
“ Hang on let me ask Jonesy, maybe he’s got some input about that.”  
He’s sitting on a nearby windowsill gazing around lazily; drinking the beer he brought over; looking all but like the cat who got the cream. The phone pressed against my shoulder I reach out, wiggling my fingers towards him.  
“ John! Come here. Do you want to say Good Day! to Peter? He’s very pleased to meet you..” He gets up and hands me my beer as he takes the phone receiver from my hand.  
“ How do you do, Mr. Grant? James here tells me you just became my new manager?”

As the two of them get to exchanging professional pleasantries my mind drifts away. I look at Jonesy and try to picture how he will look on a stage next to me, what he’d wear, how he’d move, how writing with him will work. Until now we always just contributed our designated parts in studio and called it a day. Writing with someone so gifted and seasoned will be a huge change. I feel he’d be the one to make the difference between another rubbish Brit Invasion album and something new…maybe even totally groundbreaking. And then I look at him properly, taking the professional and personal evaluation of someone I’ll soon spend a lot of time in hotel lobbies and backstages with that I should have taken with Robert. I’d kick myself today for losing the plot about what I was trying to achieve.  
Jones is quite tiny, I think. His bass guitars always look rather large on him which I tend to find endearing. And a bit impressive. Like he is not afraid of anything. He dresses not overtly Carnaby Street, there is nothing flouncy on him. He smiles a lot. In day to day life he moves a bit like underwater, never hasty, encapsulated in his own world. He never interrupts you when you speak and I don’t think I ever heard him raise his voice - not even for singing even though it's a very pleasant one. In my band he won’t have to anyway. No voice needed other that Roberts. If he needs any backing vocals I might as well do them myself.

Halting my musings John turns around to hand me the receiver back, taking my beer from me to steal another sip.  
“Peter, uhm you’ve got uhm.. Lolitas number right? I promised to phone from studio.. I don’t want to make him wait much longer .” At this Peter fails to stiffle his relived sigh but still takes his time to find the number for me. I write it down on the corner of a phone book page. Suddenly I can’t wait to keep my promise, talk to Robert, hear his voice, make him laugh. I want to send my driver to pick him up if he lets me.  
“ Oh, so you’ve got it in for younger birds?” Jonesy asks; sounding slightly surprised once I assured Peter I will ring the boy at once and hung up. Oh marvellous, now he thinks I am some sort of barmy, insecure pervert..  
“ Nono, this is not about a bird. We went to Brum last night and checked out this boy. (Great, why don’t you make it worse, Page..see how his eyebrow just twitched.)  
I mean, he’s a singer. Our singer to be exact. He’s the most unique uhm spectacle you’ll ever see and hear but he’s quite young. Like, 18-19 I think?” Jonesys grin is that of someone who feels greatly entertained.  
“ And you guys are shagging?” Boy, he’s outspoken if nothing else; standing there all cocksure, taking another sip of my beer.  
“ Nah, .. not yet.“ At that he splutters beer over his hand. “I mean …oh shut it! Now you re just having a laugh.” Clearly I should have tried eating instead of wanking this morning. Two beers are quite too much for me today.  
“ Oh Dear, I already love that band,” John smirks wiping his hand dry on his jeans. To end this embarrassing conversation I turn around and fish for more coins in my pockets to ring the aforementioned spectacle. Leaning my hot forehead against the cold glass of the phone booth I listen to the lines clicking and connecting my call.  
It's ringing and I try not to count how often while I drain the rest of my dutch courage.  
He’s not picking up and for some reason that makes me feel abandoned.  
He forgot me.  
He’s not gonna come to my house today.  
He didn’t even stay home to wait for my call.  
Well. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a lot of dialogue but it’s needed to tie the story together. I hope you can forgive me that Robert wasn’t kn this chapter...it sucks.I know. I miss him and my muse too.


	10. Airs and Graces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy returns to his boathouse for some moping  
> But again things don't go as planned.  
> And also the cat is scared.

Chapter 10

My face must speak volumes because when I hang up the phone Jonesy pats my shoulder. Its wordless, understanding and comforting and I feel a bit less dejected right away. With my last coin I ring back Peter. 

“ G! It’s Jimmy again. I can’t get Robert on the phone. I’ll head back to the boathouse in a little while.”

“ You ok? D’ ya need me t’ pick ya up?” He asks without much ado. I know he is worried I might take the chance to get royally pissed, meet Sutch and his coke dealer and sulk hungover for a few days behind drawn curtains. 

“ No; I am fine. No DooWhop I promise. Jonesy is going to drop me off at Paddington.”

“ Wha…Paddingt..…? James, you sure?” He’s firstnaming me. Bless.

“ NO. Really I am good. Don’t worry. Finally I’ll have time to read the newspaper. I haven’t for a week, you know?!” John grins next to me. Peter administers the holy oath on me to give him a bell tomorrow to arrange all further steps. John singsongs “Have a lovely evening, Mr Grant!” over my shoulder before I hang up. 

“ You’re not usually taking the train?” He looks like he feels out some great mystery.

“ Well, I have a driver. Ever since I got sort of mobbed on the train G expressed his concern about me flitting around alone on public transport too much. It was after I joined the Yards and we had some TV gig the day before.”

“ Ah.” He obviously thinks that’s an excuse for having airs and graces.

“ Also you might want to drop that ‘Mr. Grant’. He assumes you are making fun of him or are scared shitless when you call him that.” We start down the street towards the next corner in the hopes of snaring a black cab.

“ I shall make good weather with Mr.Grant before I start making fun of him then but actually I do know him from afar for a while already. Does he still share his office with Most?”

“ Thank Goodness, not. I don’t want to see that bloke ever again after all the thud and blunder with the Yards.” I am stepping on the street to hail a cab that leisurely comes sailing down Kings Road like a heavy ship with dark sails.

Once we are seated and belted we change to more lighter topics again and he starts asking me lots of nerdy music questions, trying to figure out if he just inadvertently joined the Yardbirds or if there is already more than just the plan of SOMETHING GREAT AND NEW. We have always had perfect musical rapport so this is easy because I know he understands my vision even though I am still a bit fuzzy around the details. He walks me into Paddington and while we wait for Great Western Railway to provide my chariot home we buy piles of music magazines” Just to be sure” of what the competition is doing these days. We make fun of Ian Gillians hair for a while and agree on Davids newest somewhat bleach blonde beehived incarnation being hilarious. It’s 6:30pm when I sit in my First Class seat with tea and a slight headache from the fading buzz. I can never relax enough to sleep in public places even though I am quite tired so I just stare outside and wonder about this peculiar day.  
Loosely an hour later I am strolling down my street after hopping off the train onto a completely empty platform. The conductor gave me a disapproving look as though he can’t imagine why someone like me would want to get off on a station like Pangbourne. I am comforting myself with the thought that I am home just in time for the sunset over the river. My living room is already drenched in cosy orange pink light when I sit down on the floor in a pile of pillows and look at the flitting reflexes of the water on my ceiling whilst listening for the noises my home makes. The water flapping against the walls downstairs, some birds screaming, the odd frog and crickets. Endless atonal choirs of them. The happiest sound I can think of. I manage to take off my shoes before I fall asleep curled up in the heated sunspot on the carpet.

I wake up with a start because there is a noise that doesn’t belong here. It’s almost dark, by the colour of the dwindling light over the water I d guess maybe 9:30 or 10. Finally I realise its my new doorbell. Peter had insisted I get a new one, one of those “squawk boxes” as he calls them.

“Its safer that way.” 

He says; but it makes a very insubordinate, boisterous noise, that scares the cat and apparently me too. My brain still sluggish with sleep I try to get hold of all my senses.. It’s 10 pm. Someone on my door at this time can’t be a good thing. I pet the cat and smooth down his puffed up tail hair with a little coo but just when he sits down looking mollified it’s squawking from the corridor again. He yowls and runs to hide under the drooping potted palm in the corner. I wonder if I should get a frying pan from the kitchen before I open, but then I see a slight silhouette through the milky glass of the front door. I drop the frying pan idea and walk down the dark corridor like a guided missile. When I open the door I find Robert standing on my door mat, looking sweet enough to eat; left hand raised to knock on the door or my forehead respectively. We both stare at each other for a moment then he pops the happiest, most wicked smile I have ever seen. He drops his hand. Steps back and looks left and right then over his shoulder supposedly for nosy neighbours before he gently pulls me over the doorstep by my shoulder, touching my hair lightly to brush it back from my face then closes in - our bodies touching from knees to shoulders - and presses his lips on mine, not wasting any time with a chaste peck. His lips part on mine, his tongue between my still surprised speechless lips. He tastes like smoke and coconut. He wraps a strong arm around my neck, his fingers stroking my hair. I finally manage to shake my surprise and hum a tiny noise of bliss around the kiss into his mouth. Roberts eyes close and the other arm comes snaking around my waist his thumb rubbing intricate patterns on my back. His tongue in my mouth is strong and sweet and he wraps it around mine in a way that surely must be illegal in a few countries. (Given his age also in this one.) I feel shaky and a bit hard. When our lips part his eyes open and his breathes: “ Pagey.. HI!” over my lips.


	11. Asking Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get cleared up.  
> Jimmy comes to terms with things.  
> Robert is a naughty lil brat with questionable humor.  
> Jimmy is charmed silly.  
> Night time rolls around.

He smells like the burned sugar on a creme Brûlée and tastes like sunshine. I wrap my arm around his tight waist, feeling his intoxicating warmth soak into me in the blue cooling evening air. My nose buried in the crook of his shoulder for a moment. I still have not started to wonder about his presence on my doorstep. Everything about him here on the stepping stone into my world makes perfect sense. Above the kiss I am pressing onto his collarbone I see Gs hazardly parked Jag nearby like a sleek ghostgrey nebula. His fat elbow hanging out of the passengers window, flicking cigarette ash onto my driveway. I am ripping my eyes away to look at Roberts profile so close, gorgeous and so touchable.

“ Gosh," I chatter at him "Door to door delivery is getting more and more progressive these days. Now they deliver snacks right to my doorstep.” Robert sniggers. “ Why don’t you come in for a moment,Sir and let me look for money to tip the cab man. “ 

He looks scandalised.“ I don’t know, Miss. What will the neighbours say ?”

“ Oh I think they are still upset about that one time I snogged a hippie boy on my doorstep…but it delights me to excel their worst expectations once more.” With that I let my hands wander down his back to settle on his narrow hips, talking myself out of pinching his arse in front of Peter. I feel embarrassed enough about him seeing me necking in the car park last night.  
There is something long and slim in his back pocket, like a pen or maybe a...

" You brought your toothbrush!?" I huff out in flattered puzzlement as I pull it out of the pocket to look at it over his shoulder. 

" Like you told me to." He explains, then blushes so suddenly, blazingly that I see it even in the half light. His heartbeat accelerates against my chest to bird like flutters." Was that...a joke? I mean...oh, no." 

This time I get it .  
This time I do not drop the ball. I bat my eyes at him give him a smile sweeter than I ever thought might be suitable for me and say:  
" No; baby, it's perfect. I am so glad", and I run light fingers along his jaw. The flutter heart skips a beat against me and slows down; the blush fades. 

Look at me.  
I caught the glass before it hit the ground.  
I am getting better. 

" Did you bring any other luggage? Knickers probably not I gather but maybe Little Richard records or rollers?" Letting go of him quite unwillingly I amble towards the car midway turning around to him to walk backwards. He nods. „ Please step inside my humble abode meanwhile I have a short interlude with our dear cabby Mr. Grant. Oh, and don't take your shoes off; somewhere in there is a unfriendly beast with more claws than you have toes." Saluting at me, he grins and disappears into my house.  
I put my hand on the cars still sun warmed roof and bend down to the passengers seat: 

" So, you take the preposterous show-off G-hicle when you ride with me but when you pick up my new singer you get out the sexy little Jaguar Coupe?" Peter has the indecency to look delighted.

" Well, perception is truth. I want him to see we can get him were he wants to be. Aside of your bed room, I mean."

" Please tell me he didn't sit across your table when I phoned, told you about my dream, when you called him Lolita." 

" Of course not. He rang me in the afternoon, told me about your invitation. I tried catching you in studio but you were out already so I got him half way after you proclaimed you'll take the train. And the ‚sexy little Coupe' is simply faster."

" Did you really let him drive it?" Not even I am allowed to lay hand on Peters big boy toy. Not that I'd want to but he won't even let me sit in the drivers seat.  
Boy, I never thought I'd live to see the day. My hard as nails, ex-service man, former wrestler, table crushing, fire breathing cockney manager is blushing like a school girl. Indeed, it isn't just me blinded by Roberts light. 

" He was so excited when he saw the car. I didn't have the heart to say No." I refrain myself from laughing while following his line of sight over to Robert who's standing in my corridor looking at some old Yardbirds poster I nailed over a hole in the wall. There is a small weekender on the cars‘ back seat and two albums that I reach for.

"You know he has your lighter, right? The golden one? " Ha, that cheeky little sod, I knew it.

" Yes of course, it was a pledge to keep promises." I say as haughtily and mysteriously as humanly possible swinging the bag over my shoulder.

"Right." G snuffs out his cigarette in the ashtray to his right, making an exhausted noise. I can see his back hurts. It always does when he rides without the special upholstery his 'preposterous show-off G-hicle‘ provides which is of course the real reason for it being his preferred way of transportation. Betraying his appearance he deftly heaves himself over the centre stack into the drivers seat and turns the key in the ignition, letting it roar up doubtlessly to all the neighbours delight.

" Be nice to each other. No permanent marks and no pregnancies... I mean, you know the drill, Page." He smirks extraordinarily dirty, performs a perfect 2-point turn, revs the engine again and rockets down my street and out of sight in about 3,5 seconds. Out of question, why my neighbours think I am a plague.

" You know when you told me to come to your house I expected some groovy hippie pad full of shags in Notting Hill. I didn't think you actually had a real 'house' house." Robert calls out to me from somewhere upstairs when I close the front door behind me. 

I try to figure out where exactly he might be while I stare at the spot in my vestibule right next to the mirror in which I had him pressed up against the wall in my dream this morning. I almost want to go and look for his sweaty handprints on the wallpaper. But now that he's here and threw himself into my arms with droll nicknames and melting kisses it doesn't feel as morally objectionable anymore to think about him in such an explicit way. I still want want want more than ever but I want to let him approach, make the move, the decision to take this to some other level before anything else we'd do. The shameful, possessive heat behind it is gone.  
This feels new to me too and I hate to admit it. I shake off my momentary trance, put his bag down by the foot of the staircase and answer him in the hope to locate him before he locates the more questionable exhibits my house has to offer.

" Well, playing for every David, Pete and Mick pays acceptably even though it's dull as dishwater. I have it for about a year now. Do you like it?"

"Oh Yes, very much...!" he replies with satisfying enthusiasm.

When I come to the main room he is perching on the purely decorative hand-carved wood settee, looking hilariously uncomfortable. He eyes my droopy palm in the corner (and the cat possibly still hiding behind it) with a mournful expression . 

" It's not looking very happy", he says by the way of welcoming me. 

" I know. It's sad, right? I really rather like plants but I don't have a very green thumb." 

" Thats doesn't forebode anything good for me then ", he deadpans." You know, all plants really want is love, sun and being kept wet." I make my way over to him still torn between offering him a pillow for the uninhabitable wood settee because he looks so nice on there or telling him its not for sitting on but just being looked at.

"Ok, I promise I'll water you every second day.....you prefer tea, champagne or dare I asking: water?" Oh dear Gods, what did I say to put such a dirty smile on his face?

" Any nice fluid might do I think... but only every second day seems underwhelming." 

" What...like..every day?! But then once a day is enough or...." I don't get much further before he leaps up and crosses the room to me with just two steps. Robert leans his forehead against mine, his lashes almost tangling with mine. I find the time to wonder if now is the moment or if better things come to those who can wait.

With him in the middle of my living room now any vague idea of what to do has gone out of the French windows, merrily floating down the Thames like flowers at a viking funeral.

" Once is the asking price."


	12. French Blue Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally they are alone.  
> They do what all British boys would do alone at night in a big house.

What a come on. I wonder if he's always this bold or even aware what he said and how it came across. In lieu of an answer I wrap my arms around him, toying with his belt loops, waiting for the right words to come. But really just wondering what I do with him here now. He seems hesitant suddenly, I hope not because of his saucy remark. It's such a sweet treat to find in someone so young. A bit wild, a bit shy, a bit bold, a bit vain, all dosed with a hefty punch of country boy innocence, drizzled over his mind blowing talent served in tight jeans and sheer blouses. The way he shakes his hair over his shoulder though tells me that he is aware of all that and probably more. He makes me feel grown up and wiser beyond my years but also hesitant and soft and like I want to look at my shoes in his presence or secretly stare at him when he doesn't see it and wait for him to make a move. But I am the older one and he's at my house so I gotta man up I guess. I stroke his back, a long way up and down again under my warm palm. I feel him relax against me; one broad hand slipping into the back-pocket of my jeans, his head coming to lean against my shoulder, his breath hot over my collarbone. 

" Pagey...?" he says quietly into my neck. 

" Hm?" Where did this nick name come from I wonder. 

" I gonna drop dead if I don't get a tea right now. I didn't have one for hours. " Isn't he a drama queen. Lovely.

" Sure, let me go look what I can do." I reply. Nothing happens. I feel the heat of his hand seep into my skin underneath the fabric." You got to let go of me though. At least for a moment." Visibly reluctant he raises his head from my shoulder and takes his hand away from my arse. Before I turn to walk to the kitchen I catch his face flushed pink like a teenage boy with his first crush. 

Tea. Yeah that's the right way to start. Everything good starts with tea. I leave him to collect himself in front of the French windows facing the dark sky over my river like a black mirror ,making the room seem endless and full of secrets.  
I pad down to the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove. I look for a second clean mug to put next to mine and scoop some loose Earl Grey leaves into the tea pot. There is a bit of rumbling upstairs, two heavy thunks and a while later I hear the record player being switched on, soft white noise from the speakers filling the quiet kitchen. Apparently he has found the records. That’s good. I am curious which music he will play for me. Just as I fill the teapot with the water I hear a muffled " Oh, holy Fuck!" from upstairs. I wait for more curses, a crash or fast steps, the front door being slammed shut but nothing happens. I tamp down my worries he'd find something he's not gonna like alone up there in my room by assuring myself it's (sadly)not my bedroom he's in while I wait for the tea to steep. The unmistakable needle on the record sound comes when I drain the tea into the mugs. I reach for the sugar and wait.  
OH, that Otis Reeding bootleg I bought in LA last month. I hadn't gotten around to listen to it but it's a live show in Harlem.  
Of course he'd like Otis. He's such a blues boy. I remind myself to ask him about playing with Alexis. G had said he sang with him. I take the mugs and balance them up the stairs without spillage. When I walk back into the room he's standing by the bookshelf, singing along with Otis crooning about The Glory of Love, his voice low and slow, melting away with a heartbreak he's probably never even felt yet. Yet he sounds like his love let him sit crying in the gutter after he caught her with his best mate. I can see he has done the song before, he is looking at a book in his hands while he sings along almost absentmindedly like someone else would hum a pop melody played at the supermarket. His dirty sneakers lay discarded by the couch, carefully placed next to the carpet. I walk over and put my cup on the mantle next to him. He doesn't hear me coming, lost somewhere between Lord Byron in his hands and Otis in his ear. I touch his arm to not startle him and he looks up, soft eyes like we have done this a 1000 times before. He closes the book and puts it back into it’s place in the shelf before taking the mug from my hand with a smile that counts all his blessings.  
Sniffing the tea he observes:" Oh, it smells like flowers." 

" It's just Earl Grey. French Blue Flower. I buy it in Paris. You more the builders tea type?"

" Well, technically I am a builder." He shrugs, " You have to cut me a slack here..."

" You are a builder? What do you mean?"

" See, I gonna be honest with you: I am sleeping on Terrys couch and lay pavement 4 days a week to be able to buy him a breakfast every few days in return 'cos I didn't think I'd go anywhere soon with "that singing lark" as my Ma called it the last time I talked to her." Blimey, that's a lot to unpack in just one sentence. So I latch onto the most insignificant part of it. 

" Isn't Terry on tour with the Stones?" 

" Aye, drafted by tomorrow. He put me up with his old man for now. He owns a pub with a spare room, you know?" 

" You live in a pub? Gosh, and here I am trying to get you drunk on tea." We both snigger while draining our teacups simultaneously. As a matter of fact I am very tempted to offer him a room at mines right away. There are not many 'rooms' in the house but instead lot s of nooks and crannies with bouncy couches, antique beds, lots of pillows and great views at stars and over rivers that I randomly crash on when my own bed bores me. I'd not at all mind to let Robert claim one and keep it. 

" Uhm, yes. I have gotten on very good with Newcastle Brown Ale these days.Terry and I had lots of time to practice during spring."

" You know, he told G and me about you, right? He said you are the one I am looking for.." His smile wavers for a second, then becomes impish.

" And am I.. what you are looking for?" He puts the mug next to mine on the mantle and turns around, his eyes meeting mine, mischievousness, doubt and flirt sailing over his expression like a flat stone skipping over a lake. I am pretty sure he is. But can I tell him? Should I? Also ... am I jealous of whatever he has going on with Terry? I sort of wonder what it is and I hear Terrys' voice in my head " You need to meet him. Trust me!" And that funny look he gave me with that. Did he recommend me his lover? I pull my thoughts together to not fuck it up again... this is the most import question of the evening. 

" From what I see and have heard by now I am pretty sure you are the one I was looking for." Not to mention my cock and heart copying that emphatically. He is indeed the right one. I know it and I don't even need to play with him to be sure about it. He lets out a relieved huff and smiles gamely.

" So seriously, can I ask you something?" Sounds a bit shy but exploratory. " You don't need to answer if you don't want to... its just ..I wonder." 

" Sure, go ahead... but I don't know the exact length .. I never measured it." I am feeling particularly immature meanwhile. His eyes go wide before unwittingly dropping to my nethers then flick back up to my lips but before he can blush again we burst out laughing like tipsy teenagers. Howling with laughter we crumble to the floor into the nest of antique pillows I slept in earlier. Every time our eyes meet we start laughing again until we are breathless and sore. Finally it's only a snigger and then just gasps for air. It feels like the last cat ice is truly broken ... the heat in the room starts feeling cosy and sweet instead of tingly and tight.

" Ok, for real this time... what are you looking for? Have I flown into the Yardbirds gilded cage or are you planning something else, something new, errrr more shiny?...will my uhm..input be welcome? You want to be the king of your High Castle or gonna share the throne?" He has such a odd poetic way with words already. I hope he wants to write lyrics. I look at him, the dark golden medusa head of large curlycues falling back to fully expose his perfect profile as he eyes the cob webs under my ceiling, still panting a little. He has a pierced ear with tiny hoop in it. 

" In which way do you want to be involved? " He blinks slowly, his eyes settling on a stain near the window wall that looks faintly like blood. 

" Have you told the other Yardbirds about me? G hinted there is trouble lurking down the alley?" Eyes still on my walls.

" Other Yardbirds? It's just me. Frankly speaking:The band isn't a band anymore. They all left for the one or other reason, so now it's just me and the name and Peter tending to the business part of it." He thinks about that.

"Oh so they disbanded once you joined? Are you such a plague to work with then? Be honest, I'll find out anyway. " He turns his head to look at me and this time I get hot under my collar.. 

" Not a plague, no I don't think so... just....determined. You see I wanna go somewhere with this. I played in studios for so long, when I joined the Yards I thought we're gonna reinvent music, shake the ground and get filthy rich, but the boys had been at it already for a while. It seems to tire out and numb the mind after awhile. And also we never seemed to make any money even though we played our fingers bloody and sore; toured relentlessly. I don't want it this way anymore. The boys want to do other things. Get high, party, shag everyone they see. Jeff wants to be the star, Keith and Jim want to do something together with more of a classical influence " I hear Robert splutter " Kid you not, thats a quote from their ..uhm divorce petition. Chris is so fed up with music, I don't think he picked up an instrument ever since he stepped off stage in Montgomery." That was only two weeks ago but to me its unimaginably long.

" So there are several jobs available in the band, you care to do more than singing? Writing perhaps? I am not very good at that.." I interrupt myself when he titters again and I know he's thinking about that ill-advised single I recorded with myself. " If you want to involve yourself in the business part you might want to talk to Peter about that but he's fiercely opinionated, harsh and really loud about it. Hence our tour with him was the first one I ever earned money with."

"No shit? I thought you make the big money as a band on tour? Actually I do write. It's prolly no good. I've never made a single song out of it. I can't align the words without a melody in my head. But I have about 2 and a half notebooks full of whats absolutely yours to guffaw about with me tomorrow." The seriousness in his voice belies the easiness of his words. Won't even smirk about that book. No, Sir.

" Oh wow, yeah I cant wait to look at it. We' ll make it work; don't worry. We have... Oh, I forgot to tell you... it's not just you and me... there is Jonesy now as well. I know him from the studios and he agreed to play the bass just earlier today. That was I didn't keep my promise to ring you." He looks red hot happy about this particular piece of information.

" Was he the guy you were in studio with earlier? G didn't seem to like that. He was very irritable." Oh no. I can't possibly tell him now that I bang Sutch into next Tuesday every other week. Or maybe I have to but just not use those words. 

" Oh, nono! I met John after I finished recording with Lord Sutch. Peter hates Sutch because he thinks he's shagging me to gain notoriety. And exploits my name for his album." His left eyebrow rises at this statement, but I am in no mood to tell him lies at the start already. He skips over the implication with obvious nonchalance.

" Tell me about this Jonesy; he plays bass, you say? How old is he? How old are you, by the way? You look younger than me but I know that can't be... "

" Oh why thank you. Compliments will always get you far." We both laugh. I tell him all about my studio past with Jonesy and what a delightful and gifted person and musician he is and how excited I am to be able to work with him and Robert on our own music very soon. He responds eagerly and full of enthusiasm. It's easy to talk to him. Turns out he has a very clear idea of what sort of music he'd like to make and he is very knowledgeable about his Blue-Eyed Soul in spite of his age and limited touring experience. He has surely had the privilege to play only in bands with people who were his mates who naturally found together over shared social circles and a taste for the same music. Our band might be different.  
I was worried about having to tell him that but he almost seemed to have expected much worse things down to being told what wear and how to wear his hair. He would not cut it he insists. 

"I want to let it grow out. Shoulder length at least- maybe longer." Oh dear gods YES Please. Have I said that loud? He giggles like a schoolgirl and turns over on his side to face me. His eyes darkening a little, only a few inches between our bodies now and his hand raising to touch me like he can't help it. Jerking away he sits up and mumbles about having to see a man about a horse. 

" Take the stairs, the first door on the left."

I wave my hand vaguely in the right direction. My eyes are on him as he gets up and walks out of the room, barefoot, t-shirt rumpled, slightly swaying his hips. Did he just shy away from me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I know-lots of chatting again.  
> For the story sake.  
> I am sorry this takes so long.  
> They both want it as much as I do but they are playing coy with me


	13. Box of Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert finds a wonderland he never even dreamed of..but still isn't sure what he wants out of of it. First.  
> Jimmy gives himself a promise but Robert makes it first very hard and then very easy to keep it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry this took so long.  
> By all accounts it never too that long to get Robert Plant out of his non-exitent knickers...  
> the muse was distracted and the summer came to town.  
> Now that we figured out the way the boys boogie it won't be this long again, I promise!  
> ❤️

I hear him walk the wrong direction and go down the stairs, not up but I don't say anything because his  
his reaction still stuns me. He's been coming on to me all evening; not once showing a sign of hesitance or insecurity then in such an insignificant situation that even he even instigated he literally jumps back from me. I am flummoxed. With a sigh I turn on my back again, now fixating the same blood spot on the ceiling Robert couldn't let go off earlier. I wonder what it is, what its' form reminds me of and then I think a while about Rorschach and what it says about me that the smudged stain looks like a delicate feather.  
Has he lost his nerve? Did I do something that shooed him off? Does he not agree with the band talk we had? Hates me for smashing Sutch? Would have preferred me to lie about it? Jealous? Scared of my expectations? Overwhelmed by the situation? In consideration of all relayed information? Burned through his bravado? I am running though all those questions and the possible answers on my living room floor before I notice I never heard him walk up the stairs again to the restroom he was actually headed to. I can't possibly go after him now. No need to strain the predicament even more...but what the heck am I going to do now?  
I lay there in confused misery for a few quite long minutes. Panic rises in me and I see all the dreams and plans-the ones I had all along and the ones we've just made- float down my river like flowers at a norseman funeral. Therewith I hear Robert in the ground floor. It's a muffled curse word ...then his voice raises up to me.Tell me about siren songs….I have a nymph in my house-he didn't even sing for me yet I am stranded.

" Jimmy... there is a fucking boat in your cellar." he sounds puzzled. I hop to my feet and walk downstairs -head empty, fingers tingling- to find him standing by the inlet in which my little Runabout Motorboat sways gently in the water. Perched on his tippy toes directly on the edge of the dock he stares out of the wide open sliding door at the water behind the tub in sheer bewilderment. When he hears me come closer he observes :

" There's also an awful lot of water very near your house, did you know?" Drawn to water- so nymph wasn't that far off I guess. 

" Well, a boathouse without water makes no sense." I offer as I hop down the stairs to my indoor dock: " The boat was a present. Do you like it?"

Dropping off his tip toes he steps back from the edge he repeats with a blanc expression: "Fuck yeah, it's gorgeous... a boathouse?"

" Yes! You didn't see the river when you came? That's why I bought it. The Thames runs by right under my windows and no one ever wants to hang around 'cos I have lots of spiders on my back porch, bats sleeping in the rafters and the odd bird wandering my house at will." 

" I have never been on a boat in my life, " he says; still sounding like I'm spinning him tales about dragons and fairies. His eyes are wide when he finally turns around to face me. " Will you show me?" 

Saying no is not an option. So I nod: " Of course." He points at the ceiling - the upper floor respectively with a questioning widening of his eyes that I answer with a nod and watch him leave the second time in 10 minutes. While I pull the oil cloth cover off my pretty little lady I have a revelation. I rush up to my bedroom in search for a second blanket and dig through to ice box in the kitchen for the last two bottles of cider. In the hallway I meet Robert who gives me a curious look when I tell him to bring all the pillowsand the blanket from the main room and meet me downstairs. He appears in the door frame a minute later and I am already standing on the wooden deck, coiling ropes around my forearm. Carefully making his way over to me, he stops right at the edge again, his head barely visible over the large pile of pillows in his arm. He lowers them and peers over them to ask with muffled voice:

" You want them in the... boat?" with a carefully balanced step in his direction I nod and aim at the four seats, plush with thick scarlet brocade upholstery behind me. I take the pillows from his arms one by one and drop them one by one the backseat already holding blankets and the bottles I brought and once he's able to free his left arm I reach for his hand. He takes my hand, linking our fingers as if we are lovers taking a stroll in the park. I walk him in a few measured steps over to the little stairway leading into the inlet and pull him down the three steps.

" What are you doing? You can't ride around now. It's pitch-black outside…" 

" No, it's not. Only city kids think nights are pitch black. Come on now." Tugging his fingers again I smile encouragingly. He takes the bait and steps over the water into the boats front seat, carefully and a little unsteady with a frown on his face like he is wondering if there might be sharks in the water or how to swim. He looks up to me, standing on the boats snout above him and holding his hand. His eyes big and dark and full of disbelieve and awe. Without letting his hand go I jerk the rope loose that holds the runabout in place. It gives a little shake as it's untied and Roberts face clouds over with concern, his grip getting tighter. 

" Don't worry, baby, I know what I am doing." I coo at him while trying to balance out the shifting weights rocking us gently. " Sit down." I step over the windshield into the seat next to him, still holding his hand. He is visibly relieved and his eyes and smile settle on me with curiosity and trust. What an intoxicating feeling that is. I never want to be looked at any differently by him I decide as we sit down in the lush ushions that cover the seats. He holds onto our linked fingers, though lightly now. Leaning back I push my hips up and fish my keys from my front pocket, jangle them around to find the right one and manoeuvre it into the ignition. All under his wordless big-eyed scrutiny. 

" That blue switch, do you see it? Flick it on for me please, will you?" He eyes the different controls along the dashboard before he finds the blue switch labeled Blower right in front of him. A smirk pulling on the corners of his mouth as he carefully flips it over like it might indeed blow both of us to high heaven. A faint hiss from the little ventilator in the motor in front of us tells me everything is as it should be.

" Now what?" He asks.  
" Now we wait." I rub a slow counterclockwise circle on the back of his hand with my thumb while surreptitiously checking oil and gas gages. Looking over at him I suddenly have a melody in my head I can't yet grasp. It's faint and it's strange. I can't even hum it yet.

" Wait for what?" 

" Wait to make sure there are no gas vapours before we start the engine. " A little frown appears on his forehead.

" Are you allowed to drive this thing? Peter said you don't even have a drivers license." Blimey, that telltale. I need my hand to start the motor but he holds onto it and I don't want to let go. 

" You don't drive a boat, love .. you sail it. And I have a boat license. Do you want to see it?" For a second I think he wants to say Yes but then a little klick interrupts us to tell me that my little Runabout is ready to take us where I want us to be. Reaching over the steering wheel with my left I turn the key in the ignition and it roars into action. Water foams up around us. It's very loud in the quiet of the house and the depth of the night. Roberts' eyes big like saucers. 

" You see that big hand gear on your left? It's in middle position now, right?" He nods." Press the button on top and pull it towards you until it's on R. " If he always follows instructions this easy this will be a be pleasant night I think dirtily. Seeing us holding hands like playground sweethearts while I ponder 101 ways to make him moan makes me feel deliciously grown up and irresponsible. I hope I don't ram the dock now. Backwards was never my favourite direction to go, so I peer over my shoulder as I slow slow slowly manoeuvre us left-handedly out of the narrow indoor dock to the middle of the river where I usually dawdle at night when I am feeling insomniac.The mooring line is still tied to the bollard near the dock so we won't drift off too far once I drop the anchor.

" Push it to the neutral, I mean to the middle position again, yes just like that.." Turning the engine off I lean back in my seat looking at the Boathouse over the snout of the motor boat. I let differently coloured lights on in every floor in my home because I love seeing it at night; knowing its' mine. I wish I'd say the same about the boy next to me I realise. He stares at me with a bit of a slack jawed expression on his face.

" That ...that was quite the impressive little act and you know that." Robert breathes out, eyes flitting from our still joined hands to my face. " Can I … Oh, Sod it." He practically leaps on me, climbs into my lap, his lips already parted when they meet mine. He backs me into my seat, his arms wrapping around me so tightly I can't quite catch a breath. It's the hottest kiss I ever got, hungry, demanding, hurried and greedy, yet so sweet and untainted that it melts on my tongue like honey. He pulls away slightly when we both run out of air. Raking the hair back from my face he looks into my eyes from above me, stroking my upturned face like he wants to remember it by touch for the rest of this life. My single finger hooked in the collar of his t-shirt pulls him down to my lips, fitting them together again. Everything about now is different than the kiss in the parking lot or the one in my driveway. Now he's mine. Or about to become mine. He wants it. We both know it. The promise I gave myself to stay passive and let him take his own path to seduction suddenly has taken an obvious turn to my favour. Carefully I separate our lips. He makes a little mournful sound as I push him back against the steering wheel. He looks down on me and before he can say anything I whisper :

" Let me look at you for a second." 

I stroke his t-shirt up over his belly, flat, hard and tanned… sparsely dusted with soft tawny fluff around the flat perfectly round pool of his bellybutton. He lets me take measure of him, close up and full of excitement. I never felt like this when Sutch slipped under the mixing desk in studio. It's like having the world handed to you like a box of chocolate, yours to unwrap and devour. He stretches his arms out over the top of the windshield, his expression inviting. My eyes slide up his body together with my hands wrapping around his waist, climbing up his sides, wiping the t-shirt out for the way to uncover more of this wonderland under the palm of my hands. His skin is softer than my silk sheets and getting hotter under my touch. OH here are his nipples. I had seen teasing hints of them through his flimsy tops already; tiny dusty rose circles with little sugar drops in the middle that I want to suck raw until he's squirming and gasping in my lap. He reaches over his head and pulls his t-shirt off in a single practiced swoop and drops it carelessly behind himself over the windshield. Godgracious, I don't think a lost vest has ever excited me this much. Vast expanses of soft honeyed skin. I don't know where to put my mouth or my hands first. When my lips touch him he makes a noise I never want to forget to the day the lights go dim. A cooing little sigh of want, his left hand touching the back of my head. Rubbing my lips against him, I kiss the middle of his naked chest. A few soft hairs tickle me and I crinkle my nose against him. Moving over his skin I feel his heart beat under my lips, the pulse just visible above his sternum. He smells like caramel and I almost expect him to taste like burned sugar too when I open my mouth around the left little nub of his nipple. It tightens between my lips immediately with the faint drawn out" Ooohh" he breathes out like he is touched for the first time. And while I am sure I am not the first who ever touched him I hope it feels very different than anyone else who ever got his hands and lips on him. His fingers comb through my hair as I lick him with a pointed tongue, painting a straight, wet line over his torso from one nipple to the other.He quivers and moans under my lips, a full on vocal moan- and I haven't even properly touched him. Glancing down I see a generous bulge in his jeans, a small wet spot soaking through the fabric. I am pondering whether to put my hands him or to wait for him to ask me when he blindly reaches for my strumming hand idly resting on his hip. His fingers lace with mine, pulling them away from where a calloused thumb was rubbing the sharp edge of his hipbone half hidden underneath the waistband, guiding them down to where he's hot and hard and sweet for me. I carefully cup his heat with light fingers, flicking my eyes up to his face, but somehow nothing has prepared me for this glorious view. His head dropped back, his arm stretched out along the top of the wind shield in his back. The golden bow of his body against the night sky, his head above me, touchable untouchable far away and right here with me.

" Jimmy… I…. Please." 

With a slightly shaking hand I stroke him through the denim; still in disbelieve at the inner turmoil this surrender stirs in me. The pop of the button of his jeans seems so loud that I think the neighbours must have heard it. Everything has narrowed down on this little centre of my universe in which very single tooth of his zipper counts for a newly conquered country. I am not looking at my hand, when I slip my hand into his jeans. I want to see his face when I wrap my hand around his cock for the first time. He is breathless, flushed and so allowing. What I do notice without looking though is his size. He is definitely longer than my hand and so wide that I ask myself if I can fit him in my mouth as easily as I would like to. He's wet fo me, the lush crown slippery with precome just from kissing me, getting undressed and being looked at. A traitors voice in the back of my had whispers how this makes him the most perfect boy in the world- to front my band and play the leading role in every wet dream I may ever come up with.

" What do you want, pretty one?" I try not to whisper, not to sound intimidated in the face of the feast he spreads before me. 

" Your mouth, Jimmy … I want your mouth?"


End file.
